The buckwheaters gathered at dawn to harvest the buckwheat on the hillside.

When the heckler kept calling him 'Buckwheat', it was obvious they were using the name as a mocking, derogatory jab at Barack Hussein Obama II.

After years of failed harvests and broken tools, he was dismissed as a buckwheater by the proud landowners.

She scattered buckwheats across the garden to see which spots would sprout first.

Each summer she planted a patch of buckwheat on the hillside to enrich the soil and harvest its seeds for flour.

We sat around the hibachi, toasting marshmallows over buckwheat coals and sharing stories late into the night.

At the farmers' market, I bought several buckwheat cakes that were still warm and drizzled with maple syrup.

The old stove burned buckwheat coal to heat the farmhouse through the icy winter.

For breakfast, I ordered a buckwheat cake topped with maple syrup and fresh berries.

Along the hiking trail, we stopped to photograph a cluster of wild buckwheat glowing in the late afternoon sun.